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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29477745">Roll for Perception</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueeyesandpie/pseuds/blueeyesandpie'>blueeyesandpie</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Supernatural</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Canon Compliant, Castiel has a form of love sickness but it gets better, Dean Winchester Uses Actual Words, Dean's river of denial runs particularly deep, Fae &amp; Fairies, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Post-Canon, photon cats (You'll see what I mean), post-canon/canon-compliant except they're all alive</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 22:22:31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>9,531</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29477745</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueeyesandpie/pseuds/blueeyesandpie</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean and Castiel wake up in the middle of nowhere in a strange world with no idea how they got there. They make for civilization—and answers—but Cas is acting funny and then vanishes altogether. Dean is left with nothing more than a friendly innkeeper and an unfamiliar feeling in his gut to help him find Cas, confront this world's version of the fairy folk (and his own insecurities), fix what was broken, and get the hell home.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Castiel/Dean Winchester, Mentioned Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester - Relationship</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>84</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>SPN Family Valentine's</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Roll for Perception</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is a Valentine's gift for <a href="https://hitori-alouette.tumblr.com">Hitori Alouette</a> aka Adam on notfunnyDean's SPN Fam server. &lt;3 </p><p>I had a whole lot of fun writing it and deeply appreciate the alpha / beta help I received from jad and evolving.diamond along the way!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Dean expects to see his bedroom ceiling when he opens his eyes, but instead he gets an umbrella of green leaves against a clear blue sky. He can hear birds calling in every direction and water trickling some ways away, but otherwise, it’s eerily silent. Even the distant rush of cars or airplanes is conspicuously absent. </p><p>Hunter instincts take over immediately; he’s on his feet with his fists raised in front of him so quickly his body protests the effort. </p><p>He’s standing on the outskirts of a forest. There are endless rolling fields of tall grass blowing in a gentle breeze a little distance away in one direction, and in the other...trees. They start out sparse and thin, but they get bigger, closer together, and overridden by underbrush within a matter of feet. The trees themselves seem...odd. Not twisted or evil by any means; if anything, they’re lush and inviting. They’re a little too green though, the trunks a little too smooth for their size. </p><p>He looks down and finds that he’s standing in a largish alcove created by three massive fallen trees. It’s a familiar set up, one he’d used many times for protection and respite when hunting monsters in the wild. These trees have been here a while though, moss and mushrooms and small plants growing rampant over their decomposing bulk.</p><p>More importantly, he isn’t alone. </p><p>“Cas!” he hisses, then crouches and scrambles across the space between them to shake Cas’s shoulder. “Castiel, wake the hell up.” </p><p>Cas rubs his face with both hands, yawning sleepily before finally blinking blearily at Dean. “What, Dean?” he asks. “What’s wrong?”</p><p>Dean jerks his head upward, watching Cas’s eyes shift from his face to the sky above. He sees the exact moment when Cas realizes all is not as it should be, watches his shoulders snap tight and his whole body surge upward. Dean catches his arm, but rather than him holding Cas down, Cas pulls him upright.</p><p>This only serves to remind Dean that they are distinctly <em> not </em>where they should be. “What the fuck happened last night?” Dean hisses. “Where are we?” </p><p>“I—” Cas pauses, eyebrows pulling together as he visibly sorts through his memories. “I don’t remember,” he says, then runs his tongue over his lower lip. “We were going to Ohio, I think.”</p><p>“Sam called us,” Dean says slowly, searching his mind for the details. Sam is in Ireland right now. He’s technically on an extended vacation, but he’s still taking calls because the dude has no idea how to take a break. The most he can do from that distance is tell Dean about what he hears, which can be useful and frustrating. </p><p>“People were vanishing, weird lights, the whole nine yards. The last local hunter called us for help before he headed over to check it out, right?” Cas nods immediately and Dean starts to feel better. He falters as he reaches for further details and comes back with little more than fog, however. “Nada past that.”</p><p>“Perhaps the thing got us, too,” Cas observes, busying himself by brushing dirt and moss off of his sleeves. “Dean, not to be cliche, but I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore.”</p><p>“That’s not pos—” Dean cuts off as he focuses on Cas’s fingers and the rough, brownish-white fabric encasing his arm. There’s no trench coat in sight, nor suit, tie, or pristinely polished shoes. Cas is wearing a loose shirt of some rough fabric, contained by a gray quilted tunic that hangs nearly to his knees, a leather belt, loose wool pants wrapped about the ankles by lengths of what looks like soft leather, well-worn boots, and a greenish-brown cloak fit more for a Moondor adventure than everyday living. It’s even held in place by a palm-sized, rough-wrought metal cloak pin at his throat.</p><p>Dean is similarly attired, he realizes, though his shirt...vest...tunic...thing...has heavy studs through the quilting at regular intervals, and his arms are loosely bound from wrist to elbow to keep his sleeves out of the way. </p><p>“Son of a bitch,” Dean breathes, rocking back on his heels. “Where the fuck are we, then?”</p><p>Cas examines their surroundings curiously, his head and eyes moving minutely to follow every sound he hears. “We don’t appear to be on Earth,” he says eventually. He leans over to peer at the moss on the tree nearest him, running his fingers through it, then raising them to his nose to sniff. “I can hear voices on angel radio, but I assume they cannot hear me without my grace. Their voices and names are strange...in human terms, it would be like tuning into a station from another country. The molecular structure of this vegetation is unlike any I have seen before, as well.”</p><p>Dean looks up at the canopy above them, the oddly sharp diamond-shaped leaves, the small purple berries he can see if he squints, and the slippery-smooth bark leading up to them. This time he lets himself be reminded of Purgatory, of the alien trees, the tainted water, the danger and adrenaline and fear. He also remembers the strange twisted beauty of it all and the simplicity of survival in a place without law.</p><p> “A whole new world,” he muses. He tries to quell the excitement pooling inside him. For all he knows, there’s a band of demons over the next ridge, or the forest will rise up and eat them at night, or they’ll die of starvation before they find civilization. He doesn’t know what the world holds or what lurks in its depths, but he already wants to see it all, maybe even wants to stay. Except— “Can’t wait to tell Sammy about this.”</p><p>“We have to find a way home first, Dean.”</p><p>“Yeah, yeah, we’ll get there.” </p><p>Whoever booted their ass to Who-the-fuck-knows land took good care of them, it turns out. In addition to the clothes, they both have long, wicked-looking knives and soft leathery bags filled with water at their hip, and there are two thick packs propped against the tree opposite where Cas had been. </p><p>The packs are jammed to the brim with supplies, some obvious in purpose, some not so much. There are even some strange coins tucked away in a corner that Dean is certain are actual gold and silver. They bicker a little about the wisdom of eating the travel biscuits they find—but quickly conclude they’re probably safer than eating random plants and hoping for the best. </p><p><em> It’s so easy</em>, Dean thinks as he watches Cas sling one of the packs on his back and buckles it in place, <em> to fall back into survival mode</em>. The bags themselves are much heavier than Dean is used to carrying these days. Cas makes no complaint, so Dean feels compelled to do the same. </p><p>“Where to, fearless leader?” Cas asks. </p><p>He’s clearly trying to joke, trying to make a serious situation less frightening with sass, but the phrasing barrels out of history (or is it the future?) and punches Dean in the chest like a freight train. <em> Not that Cas, </em> he reminds himself, inhaling sharply. <em> Cas may be human, but he ain’t that Cas. He never will be. </em> </p><p>“Don’t call me that,” Dean says. He can’t help himself. “It’s- just don’t.” </p><p>Cas squints at him, head cocked to the side as he considers the request, then nods and puts his hand on Dean’s shoulder, giving him a comforting squeeze before letting his arm fall back to his side. He doesn’t have to say anything to show he understands. Of course he does; Cas always understands, and it’s one of the biggest items on a list of ‘things Cas does’ that Dean doesn’t know how to deal with.</p><p>“Thank you,” Dean breathes past his hammering heart, then looks around. “Let’s find the water. Follow that so we won’t go in circles. Like we did in...you know.” </p><p>Cas turns toward the sound of water and starts walking; after one last look around their refuge, Dean follows.</p><p>They find the water quickly enough. It’s a creek, really, a trickle of water Dean could leap over without getting his feet wet if he needed to. It’s further into the forest than Dean cares to be, but it flows adjacent to the edge, rather than heading deeper in, so they follow it downstream as best they can. </p><p>Days pass. Every evening when it starts to get dark, he and Cas pause to find or build a shelter. Every night, they take turns sleeping while the other watches for danger. Every morning they nibble on a biscuit, drink a little of the stream’s clear water, and scrub the dirt off their faces. Then they’re off again. </p><p>Dean discovers the plants may be different, but the animals are very similar; the night he and Cas eat unsalted, slightly charred rabbit roasted on a makeshift spit over an actual campfire, he’s pretty sure he’s in heaven.</p><p>There are other differences about the world as well, though it’s hard to put a finger on what they are, or if they’re even real.</p><p>One time Cas grabs his arms and points ahead with a gasp, but whatever he saw is gone before Dean gets a glimpse. A few hours later, they hear a sound like a horn from the depths of the forest, deep and compelling, followed by yips and squawks and the rustle of leaves, then silence. </p><p>Another time, Dean wakes in the middle of the night and sees thousands of small silver sparks dancing in the splotchy moonlight. They coalesce at Cas’s back, spreading wider and wider until Dean realizes they’re forming the shape of wings, massive against the rustling shadows of the woods beyond. He must make a sound because they scatter and he doesn’t see them again. By the time he’s washing his face the next day he decides it was a dream.</p><p>The journey continues with no major incident despite these oddities. Sometimes they talk. Sometimes Dean hums snatches of remembered rock songs. Cas occasionally recites poetry that Dean is convinced he wrote himself. It’s beautiful and melancholic, a lonely traveler’s ode to a dream he can’t quite reach. Dean listens, but doesn’t ask the questions teaming in his mind. He knows he wouldn’t know what to do with the answers.</p><p>Mostly, however, Dean walks as if in a dream. His eyes fix on Cas’s back when he’s behind, and his conscious is vibrantly aware of Cas’s gaze on his own body when he’s ahead. For the first day or two his stomach protests the lack of cheeseburgers and fries, but soon enough that discomfort falls away and Dean’s mind wanders away from him, turning each new thought over like a pretty pebble on a riverbank, but never quite settling into any particular line of logic. </p><p>Traveling like this is comfortable and Dean revels in it...until he breaks from his reverie enough to realize Cas’s pace has dropped to a near-crawl, his body and head bowed as if carrying some great weight, and his feet stumbling over even the smallest of obstacles. After that Dean watches and worries in silence, and does his best to keep Cas’s pack lighter than his own.</p><p>It is both a relief and a disappointment when the river that had once been a creek drops over a short cliff, and he and Cas look down to find a small town nestled in rolling fields some distance away. It’s too far away to see the residents, but there are thin columns of smoke rising above brownish roofs. One of the buildings is larger than the rest, suggesting an inn of some sort.</p><p>“Time to roll for Perception and hope we don’t get screwed by the dice, ey?” Dean quips. He shrugs his shoulders to adjust his pack and peers about for a way to follow the stream down the stony wall in front of them. </p><p>“This isn’t a Dungeons and Dragons game,” Cas scolds, but there’s no heart in it. “That isn’t even the right check,” he adds grumpily after seeing Dean’s amused smile.</p><p>Dean throws back his head and laughs. “Charlie got to you, didn’t she? Dammit, why didn’t either of you tell me?” He hops to a boulder a few feet down, then swings his leg to another foothold a bit further on.</p><p>His foot slips as he lands, twisting in an odd way, then slides into empty air. He teeters as cold adrenaline rushes through his body, his arms windmilling for balance. He looks upward, eyes fixed on Cas’s face as cold dread takes over. It isn’t that far to the bottom of the drop, he knows that. He’ll probably survive, but it’ll hurt like hell and Cas can’t heal him. He probably can’t even get Dean to the village on his own as things are, and he knows Cas will never leave him. <em> Fuck, fuck, </em>fuck.</p><p>Abruptly there’s a hand curled into the fabric at his chest and he’s being hauled forward. He smacks his chin and scrapes his knuckles on the rocks, but he doesn’t care. He just lets himself fall against the ledge, allows his head to rest on—</p><p>Dean’s cheek is resting on Cas’s thigh. He looks up and finds Cas kneeling in front of him, one hand still squished between them to hold Dean upright. He looks exhausted, but terrified, his eyes wide and face paler than Dean’s ever seen them. His lips are parted slightly as if on the edge of a cry and his hand trembles where it grips Dean’s clothes. </p><p>Dean reaches up to pat the side of Cas's leg. “Thanks,” he says after taking several deep, gulping breaths. “That would’ve sucked.”</p><p>“Yes,” Cas breathes. His fingers tighten in Dean’s shirt and he swallows once, then twice. His eyes are as blue as the sky beyond, Dean notices—and feels something warm and golden blossom inside him as he continues to stare.</p><p>He opens his mouth to comment, but Cas pulls away before he can speak. “Be careful, Dean,” he says, looking anywhere but at Dean’s face as he gets back to his feet.</p><p>They make it to solid ground at the bottom of the waterfall without further incident, though Cas moves slower than Dean’s ever known him to, and seems near to collapsing by the time they step away from the stones and look around. The sun dropped below the edge of the hill while they climbed and the deepening shadows make it clear they won’t make it to the town before nightfall. </p><p>By the time they’ve found a large tree to shelter against and dig some leftover meat and a biscuit each out of their bags, Cas’s shoulders are drooping and every line in his body screams weariness. Dean watches him, feeling unsettled by Cas’s distress in a way he can’t quite put a finger on. It’s too close in a weird way, like he can feel what Cas feels in some part of him he’s never been aware of before.</p><p>Cas settles into the deep vee formed by the roots surrounding them and rolls into his cloak with a deep sigh. Dean watches him for a few minutes, but then he turns to stare at the wide pool formed by the falling water.</p><p><em> It’s like a thread between us</em>, he muses, <em> from my soul to his. </em> It’s a scar on his shoulder, runes on his ribs, grace and warmth, safety and trust. It’s a bond that Cas has only mentioned once, sarcastically, and Dean himself has only scoffed at. Right now, however, in the ethereal blue-light glow of a rising moon too large to be his own, Dean thinks he could believe that their ‘more profound bond’ might be real. </p><p>Something moves in the distance, the sharp crack of breaking sticks pulling Dean out of his reverie. </p><p><em> That’s some laughable mumbo-jumbo bullshit if I’ve ever heard of it, </em> he chastises himself as he peers into the darkness. <em> What the hell, Winchester. </em>It’s just upsetting to see Cas worn down, he decides. Him being human is still new for them both, still distressing to witness and experience even if they weren’t trapped in freaking Narnia-elect without a single clue how to get home. </p><p>
  <em> We gotta get out of here before I lose it completely, man. </em>
</p><p>Whatever is out there doesn’t come any nearer, thankfully. Dean stands, stretches, then walks over to where Cas is lying cocooned in blue wool, his face vulnerable in slumber. Dean crouches to tuck a fold of fabric more securely around Cas’s shoulders. He squats there watching Cas breathe until his thighs cramp; then he stumbles back to the boulder to settle down with a sigh. </p><p>Cas has watched over him while he slept more than often enough; now it’s time to return the favor.</p><p>Cas doesn’t stir until the sky is silver-pale to the east and the air is clammy with dew. Dean is stiff and shivering, but waves good morning nonetheless. </p><p>“Dean,” Cas says when he realizes how long he slept. His voice is tight.</p><p>“You needed it,” Dean says defensively. </p><p>Cas’s jaw tightens. “I’m <em> fine— </em>” he starts. </p><p>“No, man. You aren’t.” Dean walks over to Cas and kneels in front of him. When Cas continues to glare at him, Dean takes a deep breath, wets his lips, and grabs the other man’s face between his palms. His thumbs run over Cas’s cheekbones, trace the shadows beneath his eyes. “You could barely walk yesterday, Cas. I don’t get why I’m okay while you’re exhausted, but it’s a thing, and it’s getting worse. You gotta start taking it easy. You keep my dumb ass from falling off cliffs, and I make sure you eat and sleep when you should. Deal?”</p><p>Cas’s hand creeps up to rest on top of Dean’s. An electric shock travels up Dean’s arm at the touch and his breath hitches. Their faces are inches apart now and sure, they’ve been this close before, but not in a long time. This feels different...more volatile. That ball of gold light inside of Dean’s chest is purring like Baby after a tune up and he’s not sure what to do next.</p><p>They stay like that, hovering on the brink of some cataclysmic change that leaves Dean’s heart hammering with hope and his breath baited in terror, for what feels like an eternity. It’s Cas who pulls away first, his touch gentle and his eyes kind as he extracts himself from Dean’s grip. There’s uncertainty thrumming in Dean’s chest, however, and bittersweet pain, and somehow Dean knows they aren’t his own.</p><p>“Very well, Dean,” Cas says, “I trust you.” His fingers flutter over Dean’s face to brush away the hot, salty tear that rolls down his cheek. Then he’s pushing up and away and Dean is left kneeling, feeling alone in ways he didn’t know he could.</p><p>When he gets himself together enough to turn around, Cas is rummaging through their packs, his back an insurmountable barrier to Dean’s curious eyes. “We’re only an hour or two from that town,” he says without turning, “and we don’t know what we’ll find there. I think you should get some sleep, too. I can watch over you for a bit.”</p><p>“I—okay.” None of the words in Dean’s head make sense, and his body is very stiff, so he lies down and wraps his cloak around him without another word.</p><p>Dean wakes up with the sun in his eyes, heart pounding and sweat soaking his innermost layer of clothing. He lurches upright with a strangled cry, looking around wildly. </p><p>When he realizes Cas is well and truly gone, Dean stumbles to the river and dunks his head. When he stands up, he sprays cold water in every direction with a few quick shakes, then gets to work.</p><p>Feeling a little invigorated by the chill, but no less anxious, he does a circuit of their campsite and the area around only to discover no sign of Cas, no sign of his pack, and no sign of a struggle. All visible signs and most of Dean’s hindmost thoughts inform him that Cas took off on his own without waking him. </p><p>It wouldn’t be the first time Cas has pulled a similar hare-brained move thinking it would protect Dean in some way, but this time…this time doesn’t feel right. Sure, Cas had been annoyed at Dean, but there had been something else afterward, something that ran deep and raw and authentic to <em> them</em>. Because of that feeling, against all rational thought, Dean <em> knows </em>Cas hasn’t abandoned him.</p><p>So what, then? Hunting, perhaps—but Cas isn’t great at it and there’s still meat in their bags. <em> The town, maybe? </em> Why the fuck would Cas choose to do that on his own, though? Why would he leave Dean alone and defenseless in a strange world? </p><p>He wouldn’t, that’s the plain and simple answer, which means the only thing left is some sort of abduction. </p><p>“God damn it,” Dean snarls as he throws his pack over his shoulder. </p><p>He doesn’t even take time to erase their campsite. He just takes off toward town, anger and fear pushing him to a near jog.</p><p>Oddly, the closer he gets to civilization the more he wants to turn away. His instinct tugs at him with every step, the urge so great that several times he has to physically force himself to keep to the river rather than turn north and follow the odd plumb line yanking on him. </p><p>“I don’t know anything about this world,” he informs his stupid brain as he walks. “I don’t know if that’s where Cas is. For all I fucking know it’s a spell to distract me from finding him. I gotta get information first, <em> then </em> do something.” It all sounds like something Sammy would say and his heart doesn’t want to hear it from his own mouth any more than it would from his brother’s. </p><p>When he finally reaches the fields, he carefully skirts around them to avoid trampling the young plants poking up from the soft soil. It makes the trip longer than he wants, but he’s pretty sure no one there would appreciate their crops being ruined. His decision’s unintended side effect is that he approaches the double row of stone buildings on an actual road.</p><p>It isn’t until he’s walking between the houses that something else occurs to him: there is absolutely no guarantee the people living here will understand him. There’s no guarantee they’re even human, for that matter. There’s no Stargate or TARDIS here to translate for him; this is real life. To be sure, a very surreal real life, but still, real life.</p><p>Dean makes his way to the bigger building regardless. There’s a wooden sign hanging above the door, with a cracked and pitted painting of what he thinks is a bull and a field of flowers. He glances from side to side, but the only figures he can see are far in the distance across the field. Taking a breath, he pulls the door open by the leather strap nailed to one side and steps in.</p><p>It’s darker inside, but smells so much like a roadhouse that Dean smiles despite himself. The scent of comfort food and old beer is universal, it seems, and the very familiarity of it helps him to straighten and say “Anyone here?” with more confidence than he feels.</p><p>“Quit yer bellowin’ I’m coming,” a voice calls from another room. </p><p>By the time Dean recovers from the rush of relief at hearing words he can actually understand, a woman a full head and shoulders shorter than he appears in the door. She’s wearing a dark gray dress tied about the waist with a long piece of lighter fabric, and a white cap that shrouds her head so he can’t see her hair, ears, or neck.  There’s a dusting of flour on her dress and smears of something dark on her apron. </p><p>“Welcome to the Spring Bull,” she says. “What can I do for ya?” Despite the odd clothing and even weirder circumstance, she reminds him painfully of Ellen.</p><p>Dean opens his mouth and then realizes he has no idea how he can explain who he is or what he needs without sounding batshit crazy. He opts for a more straightforward route, and hopes it is enough. “My name is Dean Winchester,” he says finally. “I’m looking for a friend. Dark hair, blue eyes, big-ass smile. We were traveling together but he disappeared this morning.” </p><p>“Friend, ey?” The woman squints at him. “You aren’t from here.” </p><p>“No,” Dean agrees shortly. “Just passing through.”</p><p>“No, I mean you aren’t <em> from here</em>,” she repeats. “You follow the river down, boy?” </p><p>Dean stares at her.</p><p>“I’m not going to eat you or toss you out on your ear,” she says with a sigh. “We’ve had a few of your folk recently. You wear our clothes and speak our language, but you don’t know a damn thing about anything and you get all <em> stiff </em> about where you came from. Since your friend is missing, let’s skip the bullshit and get to the truth before you lose him for good, shall we?”</p><p>Dean opens his mouth, closes it, then opens it again. “Sure,” he says finally, though it sounds more like a croak, “but you aren’t gonna believe a word of it, lady.”</p><p>“My name is Miriam,” she says, “and I’ll be the judge of what I believe. Hold on.” She ducks back through the door, and when she emerges she’s carrying a bowl filled with stew, a hunk of bread, and a wooden mug the size of Dean’s head. </p><p>She shoos him over to sit at a table near the window, then plops the food in front of him. “Eat,” she says, settling in the stool across the table. She waits until he’s shed his pack and taken a bite or two, then adds “So tell me about yourself, Dean Winchester.”</p><p>Dean thought the story would take a while, but it ends up being pretty short, all things considered. “So when I woke up,” he finishes, “Cas was just—gone. I headed here for info.”</p><p>Miriam frowns thoughtfully, tapping one finger on the side of her chin. “Did you say it disturbed you to see this ‘Cas’ upset? More so than usual, right?” She asks. </p><p>Dean nods. “A lot. I felt sick to my frigging stomach for no reason, like everything he was feeling was right there, too. He’s—I’ve never had that happen.”</p><p>“And where do you want to look for him now he’s missing?” </p><p>“North,” Dean says immediately, then blinks. “Why the hell would it matter where I <em> want </em> to look?” He demands, scowling at her. “Shouldn’t I be looking for- for clues or something?”</p><p>Miriam laughs, musical and sweet. “You’re new to our world, boy,” she says. “You noticed the plants were odd and you saw the sprites in the forest, but you never once wondered what else might be different here?” </p><p>Dean had taken a bite of soup while she spoke; now he stops chewing, staring straight ahead in surprised consternation. <em> The gold, </em> he thinks. <em> The weird line. </em>He takes a drink of beer to help wash the food down, then clears his throat. “What are you getting at?” He asks carefully. </p><p>“It’s clear you two are soulmates,” she says, as if saying the sky is blue, or the sea is wet. </p><p>“Soulmates,” he repeats stupidly. He’s dreaming. He <em> has </em> to be dreaming. There is absolutely no way anything in this stupid fucking world is real. </p><p>“I’m guessing your world doesn’t manifest such connections?” </p><p>“Only in cheesy novels and B-grade TV,” he says flippantly. Then he reluctantly continues, “yes, soulmates exist but they’re not...like that.” Not like the certainty he has that Cas is alone, sad, and afraid. Not like the tether tugging at him, yanking him toward where Cas has to be. “When soulmates die in my world, they share a place in the eternal Hotel California, if you catch my drift. That’s really the long and short of it.” </p><p>He almost adds that soulmates are usually some straight-up romance bullshit so clearly he and Cas can’t be that, but something stops him short. </p><p>“That’s dreadful,” Miriam says, as if he’d just told her of a death in the family. “My Jasin is just across the fields over there,” she jerks her chin to the side. “He’s getting hungry, so he’ll be in soon. I can’t...I can’t imagine not knowing these things about him. Yours must be a terribly lonely world,” she says, and for the first time she sounds uncomfortable.</p><p>“It could be better in some ways, but I like it for the most part,” Dean mutters into his stew. </p><p>Silence stretches, but then Miriam sits up straight and grabs his hand with hers. “Did you say your Cas was getting tired?” </p><p>“He really overdid it yesterday I guess,” Dean confirms. “Could barely stand on his own by the time we made camp, and slept like a log. Didn’t seem much better when he woke up despite that though.”</p><p>“Oh, honey,” Miriam visibly argues with herself for a moment before continuing, “does he know you love him, Dean?”</p><p>Dean chokes. “What?” He asks.</p><p>“<em> Does he know you love him? </em>” She demands, leaning into Dean’s space with a glare every bit as fierce as any Castiel, Angel of the Lord, has ever directed at him. </p><p>He contemplates telling her she’s wrong. Cas can’t know Dean loves him, because Dean—</p><p>He thinks back over the years since they met, thinks of every time he’s realized he cares about the son of a bitch despite all reason or odds. He thinks about the first time he realized he not only cares about Cas, he <em> wants </em> him in a way that makes his throat close and his heart speed up and his thoughts tangle uselessly together like charging cords. He thinks about how broken he would be if he never saw Cas again.  </p><p>He thinks about whether he’s ever actually said <em> I love you </em> and all he can remember is <em> I need you, Cas, </em> and <em> We’re family</em>. That isn’t the kind of love Miriam is talking about. That isn’t the kind of love Dean feels. It isn’t the kind Cas <em> deserves</em>. Cas deserves the fucking world, and instead he has Dean Winchester. It’s a shite exchange, but Dean starts to realize he doesn’t get a say in the matter.</p><p>“No,” he says unhappily, “he doesn’t. Why?”</p><p>“Do you know if he loves you?”</p><p>“He may have lost his grace, but he’s still an angel. I’m just...some dude.”</p><p>Miriam’s eyes widen a little at ‘angel,’ but she doesn’t pause to address it. “That isn’t what I asked.” </p><p>Dean looks down at his bowl, his cheeks burning hotter the more he thinks about the question.</p><p>The thing is, he does know. He knows the answer, even though it scares him, even though he thinks Cas is a dumbass for feeling it, even though he doesn’t deserve it. He <em> knows</em>. He can feel it every time Cas touches him, every time he says “of course,” every time he puts himself between Dean and danger without a second thought.  </p><p><em> How about the time he told you he loves you and then gave up everything to save your life, asshole? </em>Nope, nope, nopity-nope. They had been desperate. The entire fucking world was on the line… That hadn’t been about Dean or Cas at all, not really. It didn’t count. It couldn’t. Could it?</p><p>If he’s honest with himself he’s known how Cas feels since Purgatory, perhaps even since Cas turned his back on heaven’s plans and blasted Zachariah away in that damned angelic waiting room. He knows and he has known, and the entire concept terrifies him because what is he supposed to do with it? </p><p>“Yes,” he whispers finally. “Yes, he loves me.” His chest aches and he feels dizzy.  He closes his eyes, listening to air whistling around him and feeling the ground swoop beneath his feet. Eventually, he feels stable enough to look at Miriam again.</p><p>“What do I do?”</p><p>She smiles. “I’m impressed,” she says. “I thought you’d fight it; you seem the type.”</p><p>Dean shrugs. “I’ve seen all sorts of shit in my line of work. You learn to work with what comes at you or you get an express ticket to the afterlife, and I’m not a fan of being dead.”</p><p>“Hm.” Miriam pats his forearm. “You need to find him, Dean. If he was that tired last night he’ll pass completely in two days. Possibly sooner, though I think he’s safe for today.”</p><p>“<em> What? </em>” </p><p>“Soulmates don’t have to be romantic, but those that are <em> must </em>be reciprocated. If one loves their mate without being loved in return, there is a chance the one who loves will simply fade away.”</p><p>“Well that’s...gruesome,” Dean says shortly. There is no way Cas is going to fucking <em> die </em> because Dean never had the cajones to push three little words past his teeth. It’s utterly absurd, yet the possibility that it may happen is horrible, a gut-punch worse than lighting Cas’s funeral pyre. This time it would be his fault, <em> all </em>his fault. Even Sammy would agree.</p><p>“It doesn’t happen often,” Miriam says softly, “but it is a risk we all take when we feel that bond forming. All we can do is trust. Trust that our mate feels the same and trust that they will tell us.”</p><p>“And people actually <em> choose </em> to let this bond form?” Dean can’t imagine it.</p><p>“Most choose, yes. For some it grows whether they want it to or not.” Her eyes crinkle. “I don’t suppose you would know anything about how that happens, would you?”</p><p>Dean rolls his eyes, but quickly gets back to the real issue. “Do you know where he is?” he asks.</p><p>“The fey probably took him to the crystal caves,” Miriam says. “They’re an hour or two north of here, so not too bad.”</p><p>Dean cringes. His memories of the fairies are not pleasant, and he’s not looking forward to dealing with them again. “How do I get him back?”</p><p>“You are his soulmate,” she replies with a shrug. “They will not keep him from you if they know you intend to do the right thing.”</p><p>“You mean they took him because they thought I was treating him <em> poorly </em> ?” <em> Fuck </em> this world and it’s weird-ass soulmate thing. Fuck the <em> fey</em>, and every other interfering jackass who thinks they know what Cas needs more than Dean does. Fuck whatever fucked up asshole thought it would be amusing to dump them here, too. Dean is <em> done</em>.</p><p>“Not...quite like that. It’s more like they respond to a certain type of grief. The fey aren’t the smartest, you see. They’re like- like moths to a flame, I suppose. They hone in on soulmates desperate for love, but don’t necessarily grasp the finer details of why.”</p><p>They get something out of it that this woman is unaware of, Dean is certain. Supernatural critters don’t just do stuff like that out of the goodness of their hearts. Perhaps they feed off the pain, but if that were the case, then why would they simply let their prey go? <em> Weird. </em> Sammy would have a field day with this shit.</p><p>“Okay,” Dean says, rather than voice his suspicions. “Got it. So just...head north and when I get to the caves I ask the fairies pretty please may I fetch my soulmate from their magic cavern?”</p><p>Miriam laughs. “Pretty much. If you want to sweeten them up a little, give them a coin. They don’t have use for currency as such, but they enjoy the shine of metal.”</p><p>“What about you?” Dean asks, waving at the table. “What do I owe you?”</p><p>“Well...you didn’t actually order anything,” she says evasively, “and you being new to these parts and all, I wouldn’t feel right asking for payment.”</p><p>Dean rolls his eyes, digs in the little pouch on his belt, and produces two silver coins. “This enough?” he asks. </p><p>“More than enough,” she says, in a tone one might use if a stranger tried to pay a million dollars for a single apple.</p><p>“Keep it,” he says. “Cas and I will need a room tonight...and you did save his life.”</p><p>Miriam hesitates, but ultimately tucks the coins away.  </p><p>They both stand. Dean slings his pack on, fiddling with the buckles for a second before looking at her. “Thanks, Miriam,” he says, then pulls her in for a hug. She’s stiff with surprise at first, then laughs and relaxes, patting him on the shoulder. “We’ll be back.” He pulls away and makes for the door without looking back. </p><p>The trip north is both interminable and shockingly short. Now that Dean is following the weird soulmate thing instead of fighting it, every step comes easier and seems to carry him further. It probably helps that he gets to walk on a real road for the first part of the trip for the first time in god knows how long. His legs certainly welcome the break from fighting through grass and weeds and tripping over rocks. </p><p>Eventually, the road curves to the east while the invisible tether tugs him further north. The sun is getting low in the sky and Dean pauses, chewing on his lip as he considers his options. The safer option right now is to make camp and find Cas tomorrow. He feels much closer now somehow, so Dean’s pretty sure he won’t have to actually scale the mountains ahead, but he hadn’t thought to ask the innkeeper about non-fey dangers lurking in the foothills. </p><p>The connection vibrates; Dean casts a speculative glance at the sun and keeps walking.</p><p>Grass grows sparse, poking up in tufts through stretches of broken stone and around rocks that shoot up from the ground, then sheer off at odd angles like broken glass<em>. </em> Dean moves more carefully now, picking his way with care. There’s no sign of a fucking cave anywhere, but that doesn’t mean one doesn’t exist. Maybe the damn thing is under his feet; the bond might lead to Cas, but that doesn’t mean the path it takes is one he can travel. </p><p>He’s just starting to think he’ll have to camp after all when he stumbles on a massive rock settled in a dip in the rocky plain. It’s taller than he is, and wide, but there’s a wedge taken out of it from top to bottom revealing a space within. There are crystals as big as his thumb growing out of the interior wall, and the cut planes are smooth and shiny, bands of blue, purple, and pearly white swirling around the crystalline interior. In short: it’s the largest geode Dean has ever laid eyes on and he can’t stop looking, fascinated by all the details that one normally can’t see in the smaller rocks.</p><p>It isn’t until he sees light glimmering from somewhere inside that he realizes it’s actually the cave he’s been looking for. </p><p>His stomach feels like jelly, but he strides inside with his head held high and his shoulders squared.  He expects it to get dark, but as the cave opens into a corridor that dips sharply downward, he realizes the crystal walls are emitting a soft, steady glow that lights the space just enough for him to see. “I’m here,” he tells the air around him. “I’m coming for you, Cas.”</p><p>Eventually the ground levels out. So far Dean hasn’t encountered a single obstacle, a single way to go other than forward, nor a single other creature. If not for the certainty that he’s beelining for Cas, he’d probably have turned around quite a while ago.</p><p>It’s a bit of a surprise, then, when he rounds a sharp corner and finds himself at the mouth of a vast chamber, bathed in purple-blue light. It’s eerily silent, and empty save for the single figure standing at the center, head down and hands at his sides.</p><p>“<em> Cas</em>,” Dean says, choking on his own breath as he doubles his pace and skids across the glass-smooth floors between them.</p><p>He’s almost there when he collides face first with a solid freaking <em> wall </em> of electricity.</p><p>Dean falls on his ass, a string of profanity leaving his mouth before he can get himself under control. When he looks up, he’s surrounded by the fey.</p><p>They’re nothing like he expected. The fairies in the real world are tiny and annoying; these creatures are tall and slender, and seem to melt around the edges like they don’t quite belong in the world they’re trying to occupy. They have beautiful faces and very long fingers, but he can’t tell if they’re male or female, old or young, or if they have features to distinguish one from another. </p><p>“You are Dean Winchester,” the one in front says. Its voice sounds like a thousand whispers layered into one; it’s soft, yet absolutely clear. </p><p>“Fuck you,” Dean says, ever the diplomat in the face of peril. “I want Cas.” There’s a rustle, or perhaps it’s more like static; every hair on his body stands on end.</p><p>“He does not believe you care,” the fey says. “His pain consumes him.”</p><p>“Are you <em> eating </em>him?” Dean asks, suspicious and angry. “Does his hurt feed you in some fucked up way?”</p><p>“Human emotion sustains us, it is true,” the fey says, and it sounds almost...ashamed. </p><p>“So you lure humans here to feed off them,” Dean snarls, his hand inching toward his knife. “Disgusting.” He’s pretty damn sure a steel blade won’t do any good, but if he goes down, at least he’ll go down fighting. </p><p>“You misunderstand us, human.” They rustle about again and Dean clenches his teeth against the jolts and sizzling power that roll through his bones. “We may require energy to survive, but we do not bring humans here to feast on your heartbreak. We bring you here to heal you when you have been betrayed and cannot continue on your own. Sometimes you heal naturally with peace and the passage of time. Most of the time your mate comes looking for you, and your reunion heals the fracture. We have heard that abandoned soulmates do not survive long outside, but if they come to our care, death is quite rare.”</p><p>Dean snorts. “That sounds very altruistic. What do you get out of the deal?” He’s heard this ‘it’s for their own good’ story too many times before; he’s getting tired of the faded repeats. </p><p>They all tilt their heads as one, confusion rolling off them in waves. “We simply exist in the presence of their joy when they have been healed,” one of them says. “Tell me, human: can you harm the sun by sitting in its rays on a sunny day? We do nothing more than that, while giving our human companions freedom and joy for the rest of their lives.” </p><p><em> Huh</em>. Despite himself, Dean finds himself believing the ethereal assholes. Miriam had seemed respectful of them, not afraid, and absolutely sure they would release Cas if he asked. She’d also seemed to believe they weren’t particularly smart which is clearly not the case, but other than that, it seems like she’s right. He can’t think of a single other supernatural being with as solid a recommendation as these. <em> Except maybe Garth’s pack, </em> he reminds himself…but then, they’re the exception, not the rule. </p><p>“If that’s the truth,” he says finally, “Let me speak to Cas.” </p><p>“We do not believe it would be good for him to see you,” the original speaker continues. “We fear he will die if his essence fractures any further. Speak, human. Tell us why we should risk his life this way.”</p><p>“Fuck, he’s that bad?” Dean scrambles to his feet, licking his lips as he peers past the host to look at Cas. He’s still standing there, unmoving, his hair in his face so Dean can’t see. “Dammit, this is my fault. <em> All </em>of it is.” He turns his attention back to the fey. “I don’t want to fuck this up, okay? Just...just get under the hood yourselves. Have a look around, tinker with the spark plugs.” He spreads his arms. “Do what you gotta so I can talk to him. I won’t stop you.”</p><p>“Such a strange, contradictory creature,” the original speaker says, and then its long fingers touch Dean’s forehead in a flash of white. </p><p>When he comes back to himself, he’s on his knees in front of Cas and the fey have formed a circle around them, a vibrating ring of light that reminds him a little of Cas’s grace before—before everything.</p><p>Cas drops to his knees as well. He seems more resigned than happy, his shoulders slumped under that blue cloak and the shadows beneath his eyes dark and pronounced. “Dean,” he says, his hand raising to hover over Dean’s shoulder without quite touching. “You found me.”</p><p>“<em> Dude. </em>I dragged you out of the Empty. You think I’m going to let a bunch of fucking faeries kidnap you without taking you back?”</p><p>Cas looks away. “The fey wish to heal me,” he says, his voice all gravel and smoke, “the Empty did not. It is peaceful here, much like I remember heaven being before the collapse.” He meets Dean’s eyes. “I don’t want to leave, Dean. Not if it means going back to how things were.” </p><p>Dean swallowed, feeling his heart falter in his chest. “They won’t,” he says, then: “I’m so sorry.” He scrubs at his face, then steels himself to add, “I love you, too. I’m a fucking jerk for not saying it before, and I totally get it if you want to stay here anyway. I just had to say it to your face, Cas. I had to know you heard it from me.”</p><p><em> Something </em>goes off inside him, that feeling from before of emotions that are not his own, but this one indescribable. The pressure inside is the only warning he has before two big, square palms are framing his jaw and Cas’s face is right up in his own. “As a brother?” Cas asks, searching his eyes. </p><p>“<em> No, </em> Cas. As <em> you</em>. You’re it for me, man. You have been for years. I’m just an idiot, okay? A dumbass who couldn’t use my words when I should have, and got you hurt because of it. I love you though. God, I love you.” He’s babbling, he realizes vaguely. </p><p>He reaches for Cas, his hands bumping and fumbling until his fingers are buried in dark hair. “Please come home, sweetheart.” That gold soulmate bullshit inside him is so big and bright he can barely stand to look at it and it feels <em> good</em>.</p><p>Cas is so close he barely has to move before Dean feels their lips touch. <em> Oh fuck, this is, this is—good, it’s Cas, and I—he— </em> He curls his fingers tighter, tugs Cas closer, and opens his mouth in invitation. </p><p>They kiss for so long that Dean’s lips ache, swollen and spit-slick, when they finally part. Cas pulls away and Dean watches him as he studies Dean. “I have loved you since the moment I saw your soul in hell,” Cas whispers, “and I will love you till mountains crumble to the sea.”</p><p>“Did you just quote Zeppelin at me?”</p><p>Cas ducks his head, a small smile playing on his lips. “Maybe. It’s a beautiful song.”</p><p>Dean surges forward to kiss him again, abruptly giddy, almost dizzy, at the fact that he <em> can</em>, that he doesn’t have to just think about it, doesn’t have to feel bad about wanting it, he can just...give and receive, as free as the wind.</p><p>They kiss, and kiss, and kiss, hungry and desperate, then gentle and soft, then playful, then back to needy. Dean’s chest is heaving and his blood is boiling, the other, more physical side of his need making itself known. He groans, teeth dragging across Cas’s bottom lip one last time before he pulls away. </p><p>“We gotta—” he starts to say, but Cas is looking past his shoulder with an amused, if baffled, expression, so Dean twists to see what’s going on.</p><p>The fey are losing their fucking shit. Dean hadn’t been entirely sure if they walked or floated when he first saw them. Given the rate at which they’re flinging themselves about the room now, it seems it’s the latter. They’re little more than vibrating beams of light, actually, crackling and hissing as they streak around the walls, up the arch of the ceiling, and back down.</p><p>“Dude,” Dean says, burying his face in Cas’s chest to muffle his laughter. “I think the fey have the zoomies.”</p><p>Cas’s laugh rumbles through Dean’s entire body. “They did say they get more from joy than pain,” he says as they push themselves to their feet, “and perhaps I am a little more than they bargained for, grace or not. They did go on at length about only helping humans. I thought since I am human now it would make no difference, but...” He waves.</p><p>“So you’re the equivalent of a fork in their existential microwave?” Dean teases. He kisses Cas’s cheek. </p><p>“Something like that, yes. I hope I did not harm them.” Cas gives him one of those rare, gummy smiles he has, his eyes crinkled up in glee. “Let’s get out of here.”</p><p>It’s a bit of a task to get out of the room without colliding with the fey, but they eventually dash out, up the crystal corridor and out through the geode entry. The sky above is velvet dark broken only by the pinpricks of stars and the rising moon. Dean grins up at it and takes a deep breath. </p><p>“The innkeeper in that town is actually pretty great,” he tells Cas, “and we could share a real bed if you don’t mind walking in the dark for a little while longer. My back could use the break, not going to lie. This getting old thing blows.” </p><p>“Of course,” Cas says. After a brief pause he continues wickedly, “Besides, there are things I want to do to you that suit beds better than bare ground.”</p><p>Dean makes it another step and a half before he registers Cas’s meaning, stumbles, and nearly falls on his face. Then he turns on Cas, backing him against the nearest stone outcropping to grind their hips together. “Tell me more, <em> Castiel</em>.”</p><p>It takes them a long time to get back to town, but neither of them have any complaints about the cause of their delays.</p><p>Lights are still burning in the inn when they arrive, much to Dean’s unspoken relief. Miriam welcomes them into the crowded front room with twinkling eyes. She proceeds to stuff them with some kind of steak, roasted vegetables, bread, and beer while fending off curious questions from her other guests. Then she shows them to a room with the most oversized overstuffed feather bed Dean’s ever seen. They’re finally alone and warm and comfortable.</p><p>They remove each other’s clothes with gentle, slow gestures and reverent touch. They kiss again, this time peaceful and seeking and unhurried. Their bodies meet skin to skin for the first time, and Dean closes his eyes as a shiver travels from head to toe. He’ll never forget this moment, he’s sure. Never.</p><p>Exhaustion snatches consciousness away before they get any further, however. His last conscious thought is that this? This is how he wants the rest of his nights to be.</p><p>“So,” Dean says over breakfast the next day. Miriam makes a mean plate of eggs and bacon and it’s been pretty much all he can think about for the better part of twenty minutes. Now he’s full, though, and they have another problem to face. “How do we get home?”</p><p>“This world has angels, fey, and soulmates; perhaps it also has witches,” Cas replies thoughtfully. “Or some other type of magic user that could help send us back.” He butters another thick slice of bread (Dean is pretty sure Cas has eaten an entire loaf all by himself, but can hardly blame him; it’s delicious) and takes a bite. </p><p>A young boy comes pelting in from outside and right up to their table. “Sirs,” he says, “I’m sorry, mama said I should come get you. She says you want to see this.”</p><p>Dean and Cas exchange confused glances, but rise to follow the kid out, and down the road.  There’s a small crowd gathered in a field to the north of the town, and Dean starts to feel a touch of anxiety as they speed up to join the gathering.</p><p>He passed this field the day before and he sure as fuck knows there wasn’t anything in it but plants. Today, however, there’s another geode in the center of the field. This one’s smaller, the cut-away “entry” barely large enough for two humans to walk abreast, and the crystals inside are deep green, blue, and brown. </p><p>Two fey stand to either side of the entry. If they’d seemed out of place in the crystal cave, they seem positively uncomfortable here. They’re a blur of sparks and static in the sun, bits of them spitting and hissing as they fade in and out of existence. </p><p>“They say this is for you,” Miriam explains. “They say it’s the last step to heal the fracture, if that makes sense to you. They won’t let any of us near.” </p><p>“A door back, perhaps,” Cas says for Dean’s ears only. “I have no reason not to trust them, Dean. They treated me well and let us go when we wished.”</p><p>“What’ve we got to lose?” Dean replies with a shrug. </p><p>A few minutes later they’ve retrieved their belongings, bid farewell to Miriam and her family, and stand alone in front of the fey. </p><p>“Thank you for your help,” Cas says, inclining his head. “Not just..this.” He waves at the rock. </p><p>“You have fed us for many generations to come,” the fey says, “no angel has ever given our kind such a selfless gift.” </p><p>“I didn’t know,” Cas starts to say, but the fey waves its hand.</p><p>“We have seen into your heart, Castiel. You would have done the same with or without your grace.” </p><p>It turns his attention to Dean. “You have grown much, human. We wish you well.”</p><p>Dean wets his lips and holds back a dozen flippant responses begging to be heard. “Thank you,” he says instead.</p><p>“This will take you home,” the fey says, gesturing at the crystal chamber beyond. “You will find the one that brought you here has been taken care of. We do not appreciate such ill-intended interference in our world. Farewell.”</p><p>They fade—almost sizzle, really—out, and the only thing left to do is walk forward.</p><p>Dean pauses on the brink. “I’ll miss this soulmate thing,” he admits. </p><p>Cas pulls him into a hug, his lips pressed against Dean’s temple. “There’s this thing called ‘talking about our feelings’ that we could try,” Cas murmurs against his skin. “I’ve heard it works really well.” </p><p>“Oh fuck <em> off</em>,” Dean says, giving Cas a shove, and that’s how they end up tumbling back into their own world in a mess of flailing limbs and laughter, rather than with the dignified step they’d both intended.</p><p>---</p><p>
  <em> “She literally wrote you into a D&amp;D campaign? You were wearing freaking cloth armor and everything?” </em>
</p><p>Dean chuckles against the rim of his beer bottle. “Come on, man. We’ve died like a thousand times and our adopted son is God two-point-oh, but a witch with a hard-on for DMing with real people is utterly unbelievable? Really?”</p><p>They talk a bit more, but then Dean takes a deep breath, knowing there’s one more thing he has to get off his chest. “Look, Sam, there’s something you should know about Cas and me.”</p><p>
  <em> “If you’re worried I’m going to give a single shit that you and Cas swap spit now, you don’t have to be. We can talk more when I get back, okay? Our plane’s about to start boarding and Eileen needs help with the baby.” </em>
</p><p>Dean releases a shaky breath. “Oh.”</p><p><em> “I love you, dumbass. See you tomorrow.</em>”</p><p>The call ends and Dean lets his head fall back on the chairback, staring up at the bunker ceiling. <em> Everything’s going to be okay</em>, he thinks. <em> Like, for real. </em></p><p>“Dean,” Cas’s voice is hoarse and desperate, echoing from the kitchen. “Dean, please come here.”</p><p>When Dean gets to the kitchen, he finds Cas watching the pot rack with wide eyes. “What is it?” He asks. </p><p>“I think—” </p><p>Cas doesn’t have time to continue before a thin beam of light drops out of the rack to hover, twisting in a way that reads ‘confused’ above the counter. <em> It’s too small, </em> Dean thinks, remembering how big they had been in the other world. <em> It can’t possibly be. </em> </p><p>“I think we brought the fey back with us,” Cas finishes.</p><p>“Son of a <em> bitch</em>.”</p>
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